This Is How Getou Treats U In My Minds Eye

this is how getou treats u in my minds eye

everybody wish snoopy a happy birthday!!!!

ITS HERE!!

I think people are overthinking this too much and are taking it at face value 😭

Firstly it’s unlikely and impossible for him to even think of himself as anything else since his entire life has been based on being the strongest and a jujutsu sorcerer..

And the sugar baby thing is a WHAT IF it’s not canon and no one should treat it as that. Gojo wouldn’t even know how to answer this so most probably would joke and answer this..

You can however interpret this and I personally do, as him wanting to be taken care of, (disregarding age/gender) since he didn’t have any parents or a caring person growing up (only the higher ups) he would want to looked after with genuine love and affection/understanding and not just spoiling him since he’s the strongest…

HOPE PEOPLE DONT TWIST HIS CHARACTER BY MISUSING THIS 🥲🙏

nods 🙂‍↕️ i agree with you, tbh i think it’s just gege trolling us atp and we should have fun with it . like i said satoru would too answer this question the same way to troll ppl but also bc he’s never imagined a different future for himself

“there is never a moment in which i do not adore you” — g. satoru

established relationship, gn!reader, tooth rotting fluff bc i love him terribly and sickeningly, the title quote is from marie antoinette’s letter to axel von fersen, dividers by @/cafekitsune

it is way past midnight when the door clicks open. your ears catch on the barely audible sound of keys being carefully placed on the counter.

satoru is home, finally — after a long day of duties, teaching, meetings and missions, he made it back to you.

and he is being quiet, stepping lightly and silently sneaking in — he doesn’t want to wake you up.

but you are awake anyway, curled up in your shared bed. the shirt he slept in last night clutched against your chest; it smells like him still, and it brings a sense of safety and comfort knowing that he was here this morning, wearing the cloth hugged between your arms; that he took it off and placed it there, on the bed, to wear again tonight.

you know before he makes his way to the bathroom for a quick shower to wash the weight of the day off his body, he will come to give you a kiss. he always does. his lips trace the skin on your cheek ever so delicately, in fact so delicately one could barely feel them even when awake.

but you know, you can feel his breath on you. because you are never sleeping when he does this — just pretending. and part of him knows it — he can easily tell if you’re in slumber or not based on your breathing patter alone that he came to know in his marrow — and his lips curl into a silent smile, soft and loving, grateful to have you wait for him. thankful that there is one person looking forward for his return. that there is a home he can go back to. that there is you.

maybe he also knows that you can never sleep without him. and that the bed feels like an unfamiliar place, the emptiness on the mattress — unnatural. that it makes you restless. that you toss and turn, similar to when you are laid on a new bed you’re not accustomed to, perhaps in someone else’s house or at a hotel, and you can’t fall asleep because it’s not your bed. that you wait, for him to come and make the bed familiar and warm, make it yours again.

maybe this is why he’s been coming back home earlier, or at least trying to, but it’s not always up to him.

“you’re back”, you mutter, turning around to catch him just as he was about to plant a soft peck on the side of your face but paused to take your scent into his lungs. your nose nuzzles against his, arm snaking around his neck and pulling him closer to draw his lips near yours, and the kiss both of you have longed to taste all day finally comes to light.

if yearning was a sound, it would be that of the air you both breath in from the closed space between your faces just the moment before the kiss. the air that enters through your nostrils and lets the scent of the other in, and once it reaches your senses it births a moan in your throats. like that of a thirsty man in the blazing hot desert tasting water for the first time in days.

“you are awake”, he pulls away, but remains connected with you. forehead glued to yours, blindfold off and eyes gazing softly into yours in the dark. he can see you perfectly, and he is afraid to blink. because anytime he does, it robs him of the time he could spend looking at you.

“i just happened to be”, you tell him, fingers gently scratching at his undercut, earning a soft hum from him followed by a “you’re a bad liar, but keep practicing”

you chuckle. he always sees through you.

satoru is leaning over you, avoiding to even sit by your side in his work clothes. the idea of possibly bringing residuals of the curses he’s exorcised that day into the place that he considers closest to heaven is just unacceptable to him. not that he’s ever admitted this, but it’s a pattern you’ve noticed.

but to you it doesn’t matter. you love the mess in him.

you wrap your other hand around him, an attempt to drag him into the bed. “come closer”, you coo.

he is resisting. “i need a shower first — i am sweaty. i smell bad”

“my satoru never smells bad”, you correct him.

he giggles. “you say that because i am your satoru”

“first, there’s no way you can ever be someone else’s satoru. second, please do not ruin my romantic moment — it’s rude”, you pout with a heavy sigh, but playfully.

this time he laughs — he’s missed this banter with you all day.

you can tell by the way his body shivers that he is wavering. his conscious might be in a dilemma right now whether he should break his rule just this once or not, but his muscles aren’t — they always lead him to you by default, like muscle memory. the fight is pointless. this one, he will lose. and he knows it.

and he caves.

the mattress sinks down as his massive self lays himself next to you, taking you into his arms. your forehead buried in his chest, his lips glued to the top of your head — you stay unmoving, in silence. in the dark, but in the warm — just breathing together.

a sigh breaks from his throat when you shift away from him. only slightly though — just to look at him.

“so— where was i before you interrupted my lovely speech”

“you were saying that your satoru never smells bad”, caressing your cheek he reminds you.

“right”, you nod, and then continue — “of course, it is because my satoru is mine — what a silly thing to state the obvious. but also because—“, you pause, charging your lips towards his, not to kiss. but to feed him your love, to pour it from your mouth and into his — “…because, there is never a moment in which i do not adore you”

a smile grows on your lips, but it isn’t your smile — you can feel his lips softly stretch against yours, curl up from the corners — it belongs to him.

and then the smile grows into a kiss, swallowing the love you give him. all of it, hungrily.

“i’ll take the day off tomorrow”, he pulls away, barely.

you smile, “i’ll make breakfast”

satoru thinks he got too lucky with you. and maybe he did.

but so did you, with him.

“So this is the Limitless technique Getou mentioned. It interferes on the atomic level, controlling space-time with precise manipulation of cursed energy. And what makes that possible is the power of those eyes.”

friday satoru thought: reader taking care of gojo for once, forcing him to take a break from everything,,,after all he takes care of everyone else but who takes care of him?

so you take it within your own hands to make sure that he gets the love he deserves.

nothing but the sound of water running is heard, reflecting off the blue tiles of the bathroom walls. the mirror's steamed up with fog but you can just make out the figure of you and satoru in the bath.

sitting between your legs, satoru makes the water ripple through his fingers, all soapy and calloused. his shoulders droop with every minute that he spends in the bath, the heat at the perfect temperature to nip at his skin and all his stress.

soft hands run though his white locks, shampoo being rubbed into his scalp and you're gentle oh so gentle with your touch, rinsing him off the best you can

satoru can't remember the last time he was taken care of like this, cared for in a genuine and loving sense.you see him in his entirety, in the most bare and vulnerable form; literally and metaphorically.

your eyes see everything about him.

you see his scars, most obtained from his youth, but you don't care you'll plant your lips on top of them.

you see through his facades and coping mechanisms, understanding his frustrations with his job.

you see his compassion and care for his students, how many hours he's sacrificed

he finally feels seen again, not for what he's capable of but seen as a human being who just needs the whole world off his shoulders, even if it's only for a couple of hours

valuable hours of rest, recharge and sleep.

before he goes to do it all over again tomorrow.

send a Friday satoru thought!